


Comfort Zone

by zarabithia



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:24:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Assassins aren't supposed to get attached. Clint keeps epically failing at that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zone

He’s supposed to be a loner. He’s supposed to not get attached.

He’s made the mistake before, of course, and Kate is good enough to not mention it. Not to mention  _them_.

_Most of the time_. Sometimes her fists curl at her side and her face is in his and she is screaming indignantly about how he clings too tightly to the comfort zone;  in that moment, the names go unspoken, but they hang invisibly in the air between them.

_Barney._

_Chisholm and Jacques._

_Natasha._

_Steve._

_Bobbi._

Every day, he wakes up, turns his head to the pillow to look at the woman lying next to him and wonders if she will be the next partner he will lose. So far she’s been so amazing that when he closes his eyes, he can almost convince himself that she isn’t a mistake.

Almost, and yet -

\- She’s right. Working with a partner is outside of his comfort zone. Because his comfort zone doesn’t ever want to feel the familiar sensation of his partners’ blood gushing onto his costume, through his fingers, onto the ground…

There are reasons he wants to be alone, he wants to scream back at her, especially all the times she comes so close to falling off the tightrope they walk every day.

But then there are other moments.

Like now, when he has the poor unsuspecting asshole in his hands and her arrow goes right through the bastard’s skull.

They’ve won; there’s not a scratch on her, and she’s smirking at him with the triumphant that would make any canary-stuffed cat jealous.

“People keep underestimating how dangerous I am,” she says with mock disappointment. “They should really stop that.”

Her words are pointed, and directed both at the dead man at their feet and at Clint.

Katie is right a lot, but she’s wrong here. He knows exactly how  _dangerous_ she is.

But in this moment, it doesn’t matter. Because in this moment, it is not her blood that cakes his hands as he pulls her close and kisses her until the bruise on their lips matches the one on his eye.


End file.
